


tell me i'm good and just fill me on up

by guiltyfanfic



Series: robosexual [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Messy, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pining, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and absolutely fucking hopeless, connor is real demanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyfanfic/pseuds/guiltyfanfic
Summary: Connor craves compliments and validation. Hank delivers.





	tell me i'm good and just fill me on up

**Author's Note:**

> time to get hornt lads. this time connor has a vagina because if i'm gonna give the android interchangeable genitals, i'd be fucking weak to not let him experiment with them.

Connor and Hank’s relationship has been steadily flourishing since they met, deviancy being the factor to boost it to that next level. At this point, Connor has accepted that his home is with Hank and Sumo, the place he _wants_ to be is by Hank’s side. That day outside Chicken Feed in the shadow of the revolution, Detroit sun rising over a new day, Connor had known then when Hank wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Without a doubt, he wanted this man in any capacity he was allowed to have him. Want was a new feeling.

Of course, Hank didn’t hesitate to invite him into his home, and Connor in return didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Those first few months had been strange, Connor was stuck in a liminal space waiting for things out of his control to happen while Markus and the rest of Jericho worked on negotiations for android rights. He was stagnant without his work as a detective, but he tried to find uses for his time wherever he could. Cleaning the house, taking Sumo out on walks, starting a small vegetable garden in Hank’s back yard, cooking Hank’s meals – anything, really, to occupy all this time he was now aware he had. And every time he did something, Hank would be there with praise, and “thank you”s, and “damn, you did a good job, Connor”s. Maybe it shouldn’t affect him like it does, but even now when Hank says those things it sends a warmth running through his artificial veins, like he’s truly accomplished something worthwhile. A rush stronger than any ‘Mission Successful’ ever was.

Now though, now it’s getting to be a problem.

The humanisation updates have given him a lot of new experiences that he enjoys, new features that he wouldn’t want to give up now that he’s had a taste of them. Eating meals with Hank is one of his favourites, spending time with the human he loves and being able to taste the horrible, fantastic food that Hank insists on eating (it’s bad for Hank but the nutritional value of junk food has no affect on Connor other than giving him the ability to eat it; he likes to rub this fact in Hank’s face). Drinking hot liquids is also a pleasant experience he enjoys indulging in. There’s nothing quite like curling up on the sofa with a blanket against the cold, sensors in his fingertips registering the warmth of the mug in his hands. He even likes the comfort of feeling tired, likes being able to fall asleep on the couch with Sumo laid awkwardly over his legs, comfortable in a way only a dog could be. He only wishes he could be tucked into Hank’s side instead, huddled under those covers together. But they’re not there yet.

It feels like something unsaid between them. Connor is near certain Hank feels the same way for him as he feels for Hank. But he’s been experiencing new emotions since deviancy, the particularly potent ones in this situation being doubt, worry, and a low, buzzing nervousness.

One specific element of the update has been a pain to work around in the wake of these new feelings. Connor has never been horny before.

Ever since he ‘tested’ his genitals on the couch that night, he can’t help but think about how Hank’s hands would feel on him, how different the stimulus would be coming from another person, someone he adores. He’s started taking showers every other evening, tells Hank it’s because he likes the sensation of the water on his body (an explanation Hank accepts easily) and he does, but he doesn’t take them for that reason. Hands on or inside himself – depending on which set of genitals he’s decided to wear – is a relief so satisfying after a day, maybe two, of Hank’s unwavering presence that it overrides the pain of having to deal with being hopelessly turned on in the first place.

Sometimes, it’s just Hank being there that inspires this sense of want in Connor. But often it’s in combination with something else. The problem isn’t his improved relationship with Hank. The change from gruff, harsh words to something softer, kinder that’s meant only for him is very much a welcome one. Before the update it was a godsend, validation Connor had always craved coming from the single most important person in his life. Now, post-update, the stimulus is triggering a response that he’s getting frustrated with, and he can’t act on it in fear of ruining what they have now.

 

They’ve barely stepped through the precinct doors and Hank has already started. Sleepy steel eyes soft as he tells Connor, “Y’know, you make the best damn coffee I’ve ever had? Don’t know how you do it but god if it isn’t incredible.”

It’s such a simple compliment, but it’s honest and goes straight to Connor’s chest. Warmth seeps into his cheeks as he sits at his desk, booting up the terminal and attempting to bury himself in his work. They’d closed a case yesterday, so Connor returns to completing the report he had started planning the barebones of last night. Two pages deep he realises he’s neglected to respond to Hank and now it’s too awkward to do so. The whole report takes him a little while longer to complete than he thinks it should. Hank has long finished his coffee, is deep into looking through their assigned cases, by the time Connor sends a copy of the document to both Captain Fowler and the Lieutenant.

Connor sees the shift in attention as Hank opens the report up on his own computer and begins reading through it. A few pages in, he gives a low whistle.

“Hey, Con’? This for those guys we brought in yesterday?” he asks.

Connor nods. “I’m sorry it took so long to complete. I wasn’t able to compile all the evidence until today as some elements had not been correctly filed and archived before we left last night.”

Hank blinks at him, “You telling me you wrote this whole thing just now?”

“Yes?” Connor’s not quite sure where this is heading. Twenty-four pages in three hours is not a big job for an android.

“This is more detailed than any report I could write,” Hank tells him, looking between Connor and the report. “You did a damn good job on this, Connor. This is some really good work.”

And what does he say to that? Nothing, apparently, as he finds his voice modulator fails to respond as it should do. Instead, he directs a shaky nod of confirmation in Hank’s direction before once again returning to his terminal.

He gets the feeling it’s going to be a long day.

 

He’s right.

By late afternoon, Connor and Hank have worked together to complete a vast majority of the paperwork they’ve been assigned and now have a new urgent case that requires them to stake-out a location this evening. Sources have informed them that a red ice deal will be taking place and as the leader of the Android Crimes Division, Hank offers himself and Connor for the job. Connor changes out of his police uniform in the locker room towards the back of the precinct, pulling on a set of casual clothing he had stored there just in case. Nothing too elaborate, just a soft sweater, a slightly wrinkled button-up shirt, and a pair of worn jeans.

When he steps out, Hank claps him on the shoulder and tells him, “You look good like this, dressed down a little y’know? Comfortable is a good look on you.”

This isn’t even something Hank hasn’t told him before. Many times now he’s expressed how he likes when Connor wears more casual clothing like sweatpants and hoodies, if only because it makes him look more relaxed. He _is_ relaxed wearing more comfortable clothing. But Hank’s hand lingering on his shoulder and the way his eyes trace over an outfit Connor has chosen to wear, over Connor’s body, has his face heating up once again. He likes how the compliments make him feel, likes the way Hank is partly leaning his weight on him as they continue their way out of the station. He even likes the low warmth that has been steadily pooling in his gut at every kind word Hank has thrown his way. But it’s distracting and Connor has a job to do.

Hank drives them to the location they’ve been given and Connor attempts to no longer be aware of his attached genitals. The more he tries not to think about it, the more he inevitably does. It’s strange to have a free-flowing imagination and he wishes it would stop supplying him with ways he could approach Hank right now in the car. Wishes it would stop simulating the possible outcomes of him climbing into Hank’s lap the moment the car comes to a stop. They arrive, Hank parking the car across the street from a rather innocuous coffee shop. Connor’s legs twitch with an aborted movement and he fists his hands into the fabric of his jeans to stop his body from doing something he hasn’t told it to.

Leaning forward in his seat, bearded chin resting on two strong arms folded over the steering wheel, Hank points across the dashboard towards the three men sat at the tables outside the café.

“Hey Con’, wanna help a guy out and use that brilliant robot head of yours to check if any of those guys match with our suspects?”

The praise is so casual, slips from Hank’s lips so easily. It’s like he doesn’t even think about it, like directing these words towards Connor just comes naturally. A second nature. Once more, Connor fails to reply, probably seems unnaturally silent at this point as he bites the inside of his cheek and lets his facial recognition software serve as a distraction.

“The two at the table on the left are our suspects, Dylan Cyrus and Damian Nite. The third is a residential nurse, Richard Rider, seemingly on his break. It would appear he is unrelated to our case,” Connor tells him.

“Amazing,” Hank breathes, the awe in his voice too sincere. Connor stops himself just short of grinding himself down into his chair, hips pressing firmly down into the leather.

“Guess we have time to kill ‘til we have proof of what they’re doing,” Hank sighs, leans back into his chair and tucks his arms behind his head. Connor responds with a nod and Hank looks towards him. “Y’seem quiet today. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Connor reassures him. “Just… a bit tired. I’m still unused to regulating my body’s energy output.”

Hank chuckles. “Yeah, I can see how you would struggle with that. Could’ve fooled me though, you do a better job tired that I do well-rested and sober.”

“Mm,” Connor clenches his teeth before shaking his head. “There’s a reason you’re a Lieutenant, Hank. You’re very good at your job.”

A smile crosses Hank’s lips. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Fowler decides to make _you_ a Lieutenant before the year is out. You do more work than the rest of the force combined. He’d be a damn fool not to promote you.”

Teeth dig into his lip as Connor stares straight ahead at their suspects, forcing his eyes to focus on them. He catches a movement underneath the table that Hank wouldn’t be able to see from this distance, and before he can think about it he’s tripping out the passenger’s side of the car and sprinting at the suspects. Before they know what’s happening, Connor has Damian Nite tackled to the ground, knee between his shoulder blades as he spits out his rights as quickly as his voice modulator will allow. At the sound of Connor speaking, Dylan seems to catch onto what’s happening and takes off down the road at full sprint.

“Stay with this one,” Connor shouts to a bewildered Hank as the older man jogs to meet them, not letting him get a word in before he’s taking off after the fleeing suspect.

Two blocks down the street, Connor catches the other man by the arm and has him cuffed up against the window of a storefront. For a second time, he reads out rights as he leads Dylan back to where Hank is pulling the now cuffed Mr Nite to his feet and calling for back-up to take them in.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank breathes as he hooks his police radio back onto his belt. “The way you move is fucking incredible.”

God, he absolutely cannot take this. “Hank, please—”

“No, really. God damn, you’re amazing, Connor,” Hank continues.

Connor wishes he could hide his face somehow, his cheeks far too warm, too hot, for a police officer who is supposed to be arresting criminals. He’s lucky the two men decide not to push back by using this as ammunition to shout insults at him.

Back up arrives and is quick to take the two men off their hands. Hank makes small talk with the other officers but Connor chooses to let himself back into Hank’s car, taking a breather and making a poor attempt at calming himself down. He doesn’t even try to stop himself from pressing a hand to his crotch, sucking in a deep breath as he watches Hank with the heel of his palm pressed firmly against his clit through his jeans. Connor has decided to wear his vagina today, having settled into a pattern of changing his genital components over every couple of days. He barely stops short of grinding against his own hand when Hank looks over to him, waving a hand – a sign he’ll be over in a moment – and seemingly unaware of Connor’s hand between his legs, view blocked by the dashboard. Connor wants to sink himself three fingers deep, but, because that’s both inappropriate and illegal in his current setting, he pries his hand away from his crotch. In terms of calming himself down, this has been an absolute failure.

Minutes later, Hank joins him back at the car. He directs a smile towards Connor that makes him ache.

“Good news. It’s getting late so we can head home. The other officers agreed it’s good to let ‘em stew a little before we start interrogations,” Hank tells him as he buckles himself in. Connor copies his movements, having forgotten about his own seatbelt.

 

The drive home is uneventful. Hank blares death metal as Connor leans his head back against the headrest, willing himself to just breathe. He hopes it comes across as him being tired and not him being hopelessly horny. When they arrive, Hank parks the car crooked as always. When he unlocks the front door, he holds it open for Connor so he can step through first. As Hank locks the door behind them and fusses over Sumo, Connor considers if he can get away with escaping to the bathroom and fingering himself to completion as many times as he needs to for this warmth, this itching to leave him alone. He’s already wet at the thought of it, as if he wasn’t wet already.

But, as usual, Hank throws a wrench in his plans. This time by laying a gentle hand in the crook of Connor’s elbow, moving his face close and keeping his voice low like he’s telling Connor a secret.

“You were so good today, Connor. I’m proud of you.”

A needy noise escapes his throat, a sound Connor didn’t know he was capable of making. It’s absolutely unbelievable at this point that Hank doesn’t know what he’s doing. The man isn’t stupid, he must have picked up on Connor’s reactions to his words, it’s impossible that he hasn’t. Connor uses this logic to reassure himself, to allow him to indulge in his want.

This want involves fisting his hands in the front of Hank’s shirt and pressing their bodies as close together as he can. When he tilts his head up to press their lips together, he can feel Hank grinning against his mouth. The Lieutenant kisses back, presses his tongue deep into Connor’s mouth, and the new sensation of tongue against tongue has Connor uselessly grinding his hips against whatever part of Hank’s body he can reach.

“This has you really worked up, doesn’t it?” Hank teases as he pulls away from Connor’s eager mouth.

“You can’t just _say_ those things,” Connor tells him. He attempts to be playfully firm, instead his voice comes out breathless and needy.

“Guess I should take some responsibility, huh?” Hank asks, pressing his lips to the curve of Connor’s jaw, right below his ear. “Especially after you’ve been so, so good.”

The whine that leaves him is embarrassing but Connor ignores that in favour of attempting to press their bodies impossibly closer, very aware that he wants something but completely lost on how to act upon it. Hank’s hands find their way to Connor’s hips and gently lead him back to press him against the wall beside the front door. Before Connor can question it, there’s a thigh between his legs, pressing up against his crotch. A near wheeze leaves him at the sheer want the motion pushes through him, helplessly grinding his hips down with jagged motions as Hank cages him against the wall between those large arms.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Hank says, pressing his lips back to Connor’s neck. The words have him wondering how he’s not soaking through his jeans and onto Hank’s thigh.

All Connor can do is press his face into Hank’s shoulder, breaths coming out harsh as his hips thrust down with a mind of their own. His hands still grip at Hank’s shirt, fabric stretching between clenched fingers. A hand finds his and he can feel Hank easing his fingers away, raising his hand up. Connor lifts his head, curious, in time to see Hank’s lips press against his palm, eyes soft as he smiles down at him.

“You’re such a good boy.”

“ _Fuck!_ ”

That’s it, that’s just it. He’s cumming at those select words, spilling over an edge he hadn’t realised he was so close to. His head drops forwards, mouth open as he pants into the bristled curve of Hank’s neck. The other man is so kind as to press his thigh up firmer against Connor’s cunt, letting him ride out the aftermath of his orgasm by rutting himself against the new pressure. Hank must be surprised when Connor fails to stop rubbing against him, instead relishing in the sensation of his sensors overloading.

“Hey. Hey, Connor. You’re good, okay? You can stop,” Hank reassures him, lowering his thigh from between Connor’s legs. Irrationality has Connor wanting to follow it or reach down and pull it back up with his hands. He wants another release, but more than that he wants Hank, wants Hank to be the one to gift it to him.

“Want more,” he breathes out. “Hank, please. Fuck me.”

Hank chuckles. Connor can feel the vibration of it where their chests are still touching. “There’s no need to rush.”

“Please, please Hank.” Maybe it should be shocking how quick he is to resort to begging. “I’ve wanted you for so long, please. I just want you—want you inside me.”

Hank sputters, red bleeding into his cheeks at Connor’s words. It’s nice to know that Connor can have the same effect on Hank as he has on him.

“Con’, I didn’t feel anything between—”

Connor snorts. “It’s a vagina, Hank.”

Hank furrows his eyebrows. “Cyberlife gave you a vagina?”

Connor shakes his head, leads his hands down to Hank’s wonderfully rounded waist and begins pushing Hank slowly back towards the bedroom.

“I gave myself a vagina,” Connor tells him with a lopsided smile. “And a penis, for when I want it. I enjoy having both and they are interchangeable components.”

Hank laughs at him, places his hands over Connor’s where they push at his hips. “Jesus Christ. And you’re not being subtle, y’know? Yanking me around like this.”

In reaction, Connor presses himself bodily against Hank as they reach the hallway leading to the bedroom. “Then take the hint and fuck me already.”

“Oh, of course, _your highness_ ,” Hank smirks, presses their lips together once more.

When their tongues meet this time, Connor realises the rush from before was an onslaught of information as his body analysed the contents of Hank’s mouth. He mutes the information window and allows himself to just feel it, moaning shamelessly into the sensations of the kiss.

When Hank pulls back, he’s the one who continues to lead them towards the bedroom. As soon as the door is closed, Hank begins to unbutton his jeans and Connor follows suit, very eager to have his clothes off his body. As he climbs onto the bed, he throws his bunched up socks at Hank who continues to struggle with the lower buttons of his shirt.

“Wow, very rude,” Hank raises a judgemental eyebrow at him.

“Then hurry up,” Connor tells him.

Reaching the last few buttons of his shirt, Hank tuts. “I thought you were a good boy, Connor,” he coos. “Can you be a good boy and wait just a little bit longer?”

It’s a dirty trick, and Connor knows that’s what it is. Even so, it’s embarrassing how easily Hank’s words get to him, how they send a throbbing wave of want straight to Connor’s gut. He drops a hand to his lap, slides his fingers between the soaked lips of his labia, and presses two fingers into himself with a sigh of relief. As he eases those fingers deeper inside, it nearly feels like he’s scratching that itch. God, he can’t wait for Hank to fill him. He’s thought about inserting his own penis attachment into himself before but has never built up the courage to do so, something about it feeling forbidden. He wants Hank to be the one to fill him up, make him feel well and truly full.

“God, you are not allowed to look that fucking perfect.”

Hank’s voice. Connor tilts his head down, presses his chin to his chest to look at him with half lidded eyes, the mattress dipping with Hank’s weight when he moves forward. In spite of him, Connor grins and begins to shallowly thrust his fingers in and out of himself. Slick lubricant leaks from his hole, drips between his quivering thighs. He relishes the sensation of it, wet and filthy and fully ready for Hank to press into him already.

The space between his legs was made for Hank, it must have been because he fits there so perfectly as he leans over him, presses kisses to the side of Connor’s open, panting mouth. He’s giddy with the sensation of it all, something bubbling up in his throat. Brings his clean hand up to run it through the coarse strands of Hank’s full beard, directing their mouths to press together in another messy, wet kiss. Fingers tap the back of the hand Connor has buried in himself and he removes it, trails wet fingers over the back of Hank’s neck, making the other man shiver.

“That’s disgusting,” Hank says, very unimpressed.

“It’s just water-based lubricant,” Connor informs him, matter of fact. He then makes a point of burying that same hand in the hair at the base of Hank’s neck.

“Still nasty,” Hank mumbles.

There’s a response ready in his mouth but before Connor say anything, three fingers much thicker than his own are circling his entrance and pressing inside him, sending him choking on whatever cocky words he was poised to spit out. His back arches, chest pressing back up against Hank’s as Connor pulls the man closer by the now fisted hands in his hair and beard. When Connor’s cunt presses against Hank’s palm, a thumb begins to rub circles over his clit and Connor nearly vibrates as he gasps. He thrusts his hips down against those fat fingers, feels that familiar heat tightening in his gut.

“Hank,” he whines, desperate. “Hank, I want you in me. Want to cum—cum with you inside. Please, please, fill me. Fill me up.”

“God, Connor,” Hank moans into his mouth. “You’re too good of a boy to be spouting filth like that.”

Even so, Hank eases his fingers out of Connor’s clenching pussy, uses the lubricant smeared over his hand to slick up his leaking cock. Connor keens when he feels the head press at his entrance, the only thing stopping him from thrusting himself down onto it being Hank’s strong hands gripping at the backs of his thighs. Instead, Hank pushes into him slowly, the feeling of being well and truly filled making Connor tilt his head back into the pillows, mouth open wide around a silent choked moan.

“Fucking shit, Connor, you’re so tight,” Hank breathes, pressing his wet mouth to Connor’s bared throat.

His hands leave Connor’s thighs and hold his hips instead, so Connor wraps his legs around Hank’s waist, attempts to pull the other man deeper. Hank grinds against him, finally scratching that deep itch and pressing his pubic mound flush against Connor’s aching clit. It’s disgusting how close to cumming Connor is already. All it takes is Hank pulling out and pressing back in, and Connor’s shuddering apart for a second time, orgasm triggering the release of yet more lubricant. It drips from around Hank’s cock when he eases out again, traces wet trails down the curves of his ass.

Hank fucks him slow and sweet through the aftershocks, pressing himself as deep as he can get inside Connor before withdrawing and repeating the motion. Connor loses himself in the rhythmic movement of it, rocks himself languidly down on Hank’s cock in time to the lazy thrusts, shuddering every time his sensors peak with the overstimulation. He doesn’t know what level of self-control Hank has that allows him to keep up the brutally slow pace, but Connor can feel himself fluttering around his cock, that heat building in his gut quicker than it ever has in response to anything Connor has done to himself. Maybe it’s the pace, maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Hank.

“Nn.” It’s not at all eloquent but paired with the urgent way Connor thrusts himself back onto Hank’s cock, it seems to get the point across better than any words he could have possibly produced in this state.

“Okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Hank purrs, voice gentle even as his hands tighten their grip on Connor’s slender hips. “You’ve been such a good boy. You deserve to get what you want.”

Connor is helpless to do anything other than moan in response, low and long, catching at the end as Hank thrusts hard into him. He can’t take the tension that builds inside him, has a shaking hand between his legs within seconds. Wedges it between his and Hank’s bodies, releases again as soon as his fingers circle his clit. Hank doesn’t slow for a moment, fucking him once again through the clenching waves of his orgasm, so Connor keeps those fingers rubbing against himself until Hank buries his face in Connor’s neck and spills inside him.

It’s hot, far hotter than his own lubricant. It’s good, so good. It’s so good being filled with Hank, absolutely dripping with it.

Unfortunately, he finds Hank isn’t as impartial to the sensation of overstimulation as he is, the other man pulling away when Connor tries to continue thrusting himself onto his softening dick.

“You are absolutely insatiable,” Hank huffs out, lazy smile on his lips, tired eyes taking in Connor’s desperation. “Guess I’d be getting in as many as I could too if I were you.”

Connor whines when Hank pulls out, relishes the dribble of their combined fluids leaking out of him and making a mess of the bedsheets. Hank encourages him to part his legs from their vice grip around his hips, moves his knees to the side so he can slot himself lower between his thighs. Connor’s fingers stutter over his clit as his feels Hank’s hot breath ghost over his swollen labia. They’re soon replaced by Hank’s tongue and a light suction that causes Connor’s voice modulator to glitch with static. Those thick fingers are back at Connor’s entrance, gathering up and pressing those leaking fluids back into him with a filthy, wet sound. Fingers curl forwards, tongue presses flat to Connor’s clit, and he’s spilling his release for a final time.

There’s a notification flashing at the bottom of his vision telling him he’s overheating and that his lubricant reserves have been severely depleted. A recipe for a good time. Hank moves his mouth away from Connor’s clit and rests his chin on the android’s hip.

“You’re far too beautiful like this. You do know you’re supposed to look like an absolute mess, right?” Hank asks, and Connor laughs through his dry mouth.

“I feel like a mess,” he replies, tilting his chin down to look at Hank. “A good mess though.”

He wiggles his hips, doing nothing more than teasing himself. Hank just shakes his head and withdraws his hand, wiping the lubricant and cum off on the already ruined bedsheets.

“Can’t believe how greedy you are. You’ve got to be overheating or some shit at this point,” Hank tuts. His voice is teasing, not harsh, and he presses a kiss to Connor’s hip before pushing himself up.

“I _am_ overheating,” Connor informs him.

“Jesus, you could get fucked to death if you decided to keep going.”

Connor grins. “Sounds like a good way to go.”

Hank delivers a gentle smack to his thigh and sits back on the bed. “We should clean up.”

“Or we could cuddle now and clean up later.”

“Wow, you’re really leading me into temptation here?” Hank raises his eyebrows at him.

Connor reaches his arms out, wiggles his fingers like it’s going to entice Hank into his arms. “Temptation would be having you fuck me again. I like how you feel in me. It’s a perfect fit.”

Hank chokes. “Fucking shit, Con’.”

“Haaaank,” Connor whines, playfully drawing out the vowels. “Hoooold meeee.”

“Jeez, how am I supposed to deny that?”

Connor nearly purrs like a very satisfied cat as Hank lays in his arms, presses them chest to chest again. He revels in the warmth of their bodies against tucked each other.

“Love you,” he mumbles, voice muffled where he’s shoved his face into the curve of Hank’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I love you too, Con’,” Hank replies, pressing a kiss to Connor’s LED. “Though, if you rub lube in my hair again, I’m kicking you out.”

 


End file.
